Manhattan Voyagers. Thomas Boone's Quealy
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being too chatty with a sloppy drunk. The well-dressed customer in question, an acclaimed economist, happened to be starting on his third drink of the evening, however, in Rudy’s book, any customer who had more than two drinks per day was, ipso facto, a sloppy drunk.
“Rudy,” Tuck called to him, “I expect you’ve heard by now about what happened to poor Jimmy here.”
Jimmy’s head was downcast and he seemed to be on the verge of crying into his beer.
The accountant smiled malevolently. “I heard Jimmy got shit-canned by his firm; that he was forcibly removed from the building by six guards, his tail dangling between his legs, babbling like a baby, weak-kneed, tears gushing down his cheeks, his bowels all in an uproar, and crying loudly for his mommy.”
“Ahem, eh, well, yeah, I guess that about covers it.”
“Hee! Hee! Hee! I only wish I had been there. I’d have taken pictures and posted them here in the bar so everyone could have a good fucking laugh.”
Jimmy made a move towards the midget but Tuck restrained him. “Eh, Rudy, do you have any words of advice for Jimmy as to possible employment opportunities he might pursue?”
“Yes, Tuck, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Really?”
“Hold on a sec.” He ducked under the bar and dragged out a stepstool. When Rudy climbed up on it and stood on his tip-toes, he and Jimmy, who was still sitting down, were nose-to-nose.”
“I’ve got one excellent piece of advice for you, Jimmy, I urge you to make your own.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I were you, Jimmy, I’d go home and practice flipping hamburgers for my job interview at McDonald’s. I hear the competition is fierce these days because so many brokers and traders are out of work. And since you didn’t attend Flip Burger U, you’re at a big disadvantage.” He cackled loudly, jumped down from the stepstool and continued on his way.
“Don’t pay any attention to that little ball-buster,” Tuck said, “if there was any justice in the world, somebody would’ve killed Rudy years ago.”
Jimmy looked more despondent than ever.
Rudy stopped next to speak with the Bar Manager who was busy stacking pint glasses fresh out of the dishwasher.
Arnie pretended not to see him. Bartenders frequently didn’t see Rudy since he was much shorter than the height of the bar.
“Listen to me, Arnie, I’m a fair person so I’m giving you fair warning. At my recommendation, Hilda is going to be installing surveillance cameras over every cash register. There’s been entirely too much thievery by the bar staff lately, the situation amounts to highway robbery.”
“My bartenders are as honest as the day is long, Rudy, I hand-picked each of them to work here.”
“That’s hardly a sterling recommendation, Arnie, coming, as it does, from yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your bartenders have sticky fingers, Arnie, and they either learned it from you, or else you’re too stupid to see the stealing going on under your nose. Whichever way it is; it’s still your damn fault.”
“Je vais te tuer si je mets la main sur vous!” Arnie reached over the bar to throttle the accountant but he’d already moved out of harm’s way.
“And I’m going to recommend to Hilda that we dock your pay for any future cash gone missing from the tills, even if it’s not stolen during your shift.”
Arnie grabbed an empty liquor bottle to throw at him but Eddie rose up from his usual barstool and snatched it out of his grasp.
“And there’ll be no more freeloading in here by your barfly buddies either. The cameras will count every beer pulled at the taps and automatically match them up with the bar receipts.”
“You’ve gone too far!” Arnie screamed, “you’re dead meat!”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Eddie said, “the runt bastard’s not worth it.”
Rudy scampered along the bar until he arrived at where Carl was sitting and climbed up on the barstool next to him.
“Hello, Carl, got any hot stock tips for me?”
Carl didn’t acknowledge his presence and continued reading the newspaper.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Ok, here’s a red hot tip, Rudy, sell your Lehman Brothers stock; it’s going to go bankrupt.”
“Lehman filed bankruptcy five years ago.”
“Oh, yeah, huh, I must’ve missed it.”
“Very funny, Carl, but I wouldn’t quit my day job if I was you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
His small eyes glowed conspiratorially in the low light. “Especially since your day job is so highly lucrative.”
“I do all right, Rudy, I can’t complain.”
He edged closer. “And so illegal too.”
Carl put the paper down.
“You know, Carl, being a midget has many disadvantages. For instance, you have to buy your clothes in the Children’s Departments of stores, which is mortifying for an adult man.”
“Yeah, I can see how it would be.”
“And you can’t drive a car or go out on dates with normal women.”
“No.”
“At restaurants you have to sit in booster seats like a toddler.”
“I’d hate that.”
“In crowds people can’t see you so they walk on you. You end up with bruises all over your body.”
“Hmm.”
“The worst part, though, Carl, is the snickering that goes on behind your back.”
“Uh-huh.”
“People think you can’t hear their snide jokes concerning the size of your pecker or the capacity of your bladder, but you can hear them loud and clear.”
“Right.”
Rudy adjusted his eyeshade. “I have a theory that we midgets develop a sharper sense of hearing as a result of all those tasteless jokes.”
“Hmm.”
“I expect to be coming into a great deal of money soon, Carl. Maybe I’ll fund a medical research project at the Mayo Clinic to prove my theory.”
“That would be real generous of you.”
“I’m not a whiner, Carl, but as I said, it’s not easy being a midget.”
“I believe you.” He signaled Ashley for another gin and tonic.
Rudy sighed melodramatically. “It is a cross, however, that God has given me to bear in life.”
Carl guffawed. “You’re full of shit; you’re an atheist!”
The midget laughed. “I had you going there for a minute, Carl, admit it.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you did.”
“But getting serious again, Carl, there is one major advantage to being a midget.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“It’s that people often don’t know you’re nearby because they can’t see you due to an obstruction like a big chair or a grandfather’s clock.”
“Hmm.”
“The old